The persimmon tree
by noeru K
Summary: Harry is the Prince of Wales. That was who he was, no matter what he tried to believe. DMxHP big fat AU


**The perfect plan**

**Warnings: Slash, HPxDM, DMxOC, GGxVC, PPxDM**

**A/N: Manipulative, evil Draco…nice, submissive yet gentleman Harry. You know you love it.**

**EnJoy**

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Draco Malfoy stood in front of the foot-long mirror; his pale, wiry body bare in the equally fair dawn rays filtering in through the large, crystal windowpanes. His face was smooth and clean-shaven, arrogance and charm overflowing from every pore of his body. He made a show of slipping his arm through a crisp, white shirt before wounding a tie around his neck. He carefully checked for creases and specks of dust then pulled on his breeches systematically and reached for his luscious black coat just to the right of him. He preened himself in front of the reflection that stood concretely to the side of his single bed.

There was a gentle knock on the door and Draco peered over his shoulder, disrupting his ritual grooming of the early hours in the morning. "Excuse me sir." Benedict Bowman, the cook and general housekeeper of the expensive London apartment inhabited by Mr Malfoy had a crooked, lopsided grin, broad shoulders and lengthy but layered strawberry blonde locks that framed his face that was handsome yet exuded an air of danger. "The prince regent wishes to see you." He continued as he watched Draco attach a golden watch to his waistcoat.

Bowman advanced into the room while Draco smoothed back his white blonde hair to settle a top hat on snugly. He reached for his serpent-head staff next and gestured to Bowman, who pulled a pair of white gloves over Draco's hands smoothly. He handed over a slip of paper afterwards, which Draco skimmed carefully. Draco nodded, "It is about time," he muttered snootily, "I had asked the Duchess of Kent very kindly to put me in the favour of the prince half a year ago and I never failed to visit her to _remind _her of our bargain." He tapped at the wooden floor with a sudden, acute realisation, "But Ben, you look a little too bemused for your own good. What is it? Speak up. This is good news after all."

Benedict frowned a little, his royal blue eyes somehow still sparkling, "I had a few bailiffs sitting in the lounge in the wee hours of the night Draco." Draco immediately frowned but Benedict pressed on, "They want their accounts settled…immediately." Draco squared his shoulders, "My inheritance…"

"Can not be accessed until you turn twenty one years of age. Those were the terms." Benedict grinned toothily at seeing his master turn a shade paler than his already moonlight on snow complexion.

"That vexes me," Draco confessed, "But I shall deal with it later. I must see the Prince of Wales. I'll see you in a bit, Ben." And the young master brushed past Bowman.

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The prince's apartments were situated in the west wing and Draco found himself treading lightly on thick red carpet down aisles with busts on one side of the large windowpanes and the other, portraits of England's deceased monarchs. He then entered the outer chamber with a handsome mantelpiece and rich furniture matching the gold and white panelling of the interior. Several footmen announced his name as he entered the inner chamber from the outer and he was only obstructed from entering the prince's actual room by two heavily decorated doors on either side of a renaissance painting that span across the entire wall of the inner chamber.

The inner chamber had varnished wooden floors and the ceiling was very high with a vast chandelier made from purple bohemian crystal dwarfing everything below. Tassels and gold medallions embroidered in the white silks panelling the walls were gleaming oddly in the heavily curtained ballroom and Draco approached the footman to the left, being cautious not to smirk at their white wigs, heavily powdered face or white stockings. "Mr Draco Malfoy seeking audience with his royal highness." It announced with a poker face and opened the richly ornate, whitewashed door.

Draco strolled in and took a deep bow, "Your highness," Draco swept his hat off and pushed it into the arms of the stiff footman. When he looked up, however, he did not see the prince. He was facing a somewhat cramped room with a deep red screen to one side, a large dressing table in the middle and a reading table on the other side with the crystal windows. The intricate designs and expensive furnishings were lost upon Draco as confusion settled into his grey eyes but then, from the red screen emerged the prince, heavily dressed in all manner of state robes, sashes and medals. On top his head, perched precariously was a white, powdered wig and plaster-like makeup was on his face, obscuring his features.

He staggered out of the screen then struck up a pose, "What do you think?" he asked abruptly. Draco recovered remarkably from the surprise and question that caught him off-guard, "Very flattering, my lord." He replied silkily. The prince shrugged, "Pierre Smollier thinks I have no taste." He walked towards Draco and shook hands with him, "This is for the engagement ceremony due March."

"You have taste, sire." Draco hastily reassured him, "But if I may. Perhaps, a tad too much taste?"

"Too much taste?" the prince pondered. "Yes, well. I see what you mean, but I have no idea what to do." He stumbled over a Parisian stool and Draco hurriedly rushed over to catch him. The prince mumbled his thanks as Draco steered him into a chair and faced him towards a mirror.

"Sire, if I may."

"Go ahead," the prince encouraged as Draco pulled the powdered wig off the prince's head. Ruffled locks of jet-black hair tumbled from beneath as Draco set the wig on the dressing table and found a cloth. Draco bent on one knee so that he could remove the sticky mess from the prince's face. With utmost patience, he first started with each cheek, beneath his lower lip then his forehead, then over the straight bridge of his nose. He gently, persistently pressed the cloth over the lid of the prince's eyes and the contours of his face, removing the sticky plaster-like powder off his smooth, creamy skin. Bottle green eyes peeked from long inky eyelashes to lock with Draco's own gleaming silver.

"Gods, I…feel naked," the prince confessed as he peered at himself in the reflection.

"I would not say that." Draco felt himself awed at how different the prince looked. His features were god-given. He had large, vivid emerald eyes peeking beneath long lashes, a high-bridged, straight nose, high cheekbones and pouting, pink budding lips. "You look…quite dashing, if I may say so." Draco uttered quietly.

"I feel bare…"

"No…masculine," Draco murmured, following the prince's gaze in the mirror. The prince sighed, "Do you know the French war?"

Draco nodded.

"Well, my guardian almost renders the country bankrupt so now…"

"…You have to be engaged to a polish princess." Draco finished for him wearily. He was politically aware of what was going on.

"She is a mountain-troll of a girl." The prince lamented sorrowfully, he shivered.

"Your highness…"

"Please, Harry."

Draco opened his mouth to protest but just suppressed his grimace. "Uh…Harry, would you like to come over for dinner?"

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"Y…you invited the prince over for dinner?" Benedict asked in disbelief as Draco walked down the street calmly. "Yes," Draco sniffed the fresh air wistfully, "He's a fine chap. You would like him."

"By golly I would. He has all the money to spend in England!"

"Dear Benedict," Draco spun around on his soles to face the cook and tuck away a stray strand from his face, "Money isn't everything. There was something different about this guy."

"Maybe…he's the prince?" Benedict insisted with mock seriousness. Draco laughed. "After I've sworn to hate him, it's getting rather difficult." Draco walked on with ease; Benedict gazed at him quizzically but did not ask what he meant. Mr Malfoy was a self-made man and he knew that. He never spoke of his past, which was always an interesting topic, as nobody knew where he had come from. Benedict also knew that Mr Malfoy was not a very honest man. He was charming and very egotistical but most of his dealings had been shady and Benedict, who had known him for almost six years, did not know much about the work he did at all.

"My, Mr Malfoy," two men suddenly blocked their way and grinned slyly. The street was nearly deserted if not for a few carriages driven by horses along the cobblestones and Draco narrowed his eyes at their flamboyant wig, powdered face and jewelled clothes.

"Sir Crabbe, Goyle. What can I do for you?" Draco asked quietly, his hand twisting the serpeant-head of his staff.

"Why, such a suspicious stance?" Goyle trilled, "We were merely visiting the jewellers…and we thought it would be polite to have a little chat. It has been a while."

"If it is about a sum that I owe…" Draco started slowly.

"Oh!" Crabbe sniggered, "He remembers. Yes, my dear Mr Malfoy. A _considerable _sum that you owe not only me but also Sir Goyle. If I recall correctly, the payment was due almost half a year ago and I had my manservant ask you almost every day for it."

Draco clenched his jaw as their rotten French perfume mixed with unwashed body odour floated towards him. He had no money…no money at all. Well, if it was about his inheritance, a considerable fortune locked away in a bank, he could not access it until he was twenty-one years of age! That would be three years from now! How he loathed their goading!

"Well, gentlemen." Draco maintained his cool composure, "If you would kindly come over for dinner this evening. We will be able to settle this? After all…I have a special guest coming over as well."

"A special guest?" Goyle laughed, "Well, we certainly look forward to _settling _this. We would be receiving a formal invitation I believe?"

"Naturally,"

"Good. We should be going. Sir Crabbe," Goyle nodded to Crabbe who followed him down the street, continuing on their own way. Draco twisted his head over his shoulder and gazed at their disappearing backs dispassionately but Benedict was less than impressed, "I know what you're doing," he stated.

Draco tried to look unperturbed, "Oh, what is that?" they resumed their walk to the local tailor as Benedict drilled him with a penetrating stare. "_You _are going to get the prince to pay your bills."

Draco looked impressed, "You're sharp," he acknowledged, "I know," he held a hand out to interrupt Benedict who had opened his mouth to speak, "I'm a genius." They had stopped in front of _Johnson's _and Draco pushed opened the door to face a young man with periwinkle eyes and an open, innocent face.

"Ah…Johnson," Draco greeted. Benedict sighed but remained silent.

"Mr Malfoy," Johnson gushed eagerly, "Have you come here to settle your account sir?"

"Well no, Johnson. I need you to design _trousers_. I have a new style in mind for the people of England."

"B-but sir," Johnson asked, his face slightly frightened, "y-your account."

"Don't worry about it, Johnson." Draco purred, "actually, why don't you join me for dinner tonight? We'll discuss it then." Johnson's face turned a deep red in pleasure, "O-oh. It would be an honour, sir."

"Good, now I need you to design some trousers for me Johnson. I plan on presenting the 'dandy'." Draco stood in front of a row of mirrors to step on a stool. Benedict shook his head in amusement, as Johnson looked on, confused. "Right, Mr Malfoy. You always were, the most fashionable." And he rushed forwards to work.

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The dining room was dimly lit by an elaborate arrangement of candles and Draco had his guests all seated, feasting on bread, potatoes and wine for starters. Goyle and Crabbe were seated on one side with Millicent Bulstrode, another one of his loaners. Eloise Midgen and Pansy Parkinson were seated on the other side, whilst a seat was empty for the prince, opposite Draco who was at the head of the table.

"So when is your _special guest _popping in?" Goyle asked, his cheeks flushed with wine. Crabbe snickered then hiccuped, "I slept with your mother." He joked, then waved the goblet around for emphasis.

"You wish you slept with my mother," Goyle countered, rolling his eyes childishly. "It's been ages. Malfoy, who is your special guest?"

Draco chewed on a piece of bread for a long time, the vein in his temple, starting to throb. He picked up a serviette and dabbed at his mouth, "Excuse me, I'm going to check on the main course." He pushed himself out of the seat and entered the kitchens to which Benedict was setting a roasted turkey with blue fire.

"He's not coming!" Draco hissed, furious and anxious at the same time. Benedict sprinkled some flour over some goose eggs, "He's coming." He muttered under his breath, easily. He handed Draco the turkey, "Careful, it's hot."

"Are you sure?" Draco attempted to exhale evenly as Benedict shoved the platter of arranged goose eggs to him, "Yes, I _know _so. So stop fretting your pretty head about it and get in there!"

Draco gazed deep into Benedict eyes but then smirked, "Of course," he re-entered the dining room with the turkey and goose eggs to which the guests started chattering loudly at its exquisite taste. Draco could not bring himself to do further than to cut his potatoes into little quarters as his grey eyes flickered to the door every now and then.

"I hope I'm not late," A man escorted by Benedict stood in the doorway and all the guests as well as Draco held their breath as they raised their heads towards the figure. Then after a tangible moment, they all burst out into laughter as Johnson stood there in his best Sunday suit, looking a little embarrassed. Draco slumped back into his seat as everyone at the table burst into laughter.

"Johnson, my man!" Goyle roared in pompous chuckling, "Why don't you take your special seat." Pansy Parkinson twittered shrilly, "So this is your special guest Draco?"

Johnson looked flattered and he continued to blush as he awkwardly sat in his seat, "I'm honoured to be here." He announced, amid the still very loud mocking laugher. Crabbe even moved his large, thickset body to open Johnson's serviette and polish his cutlery in a wild, flourishing gesture.

Seated next to Pansy, who was a very promiscuous lady, Johnson continued shifting awkwardly as she bent over to give him a generous view of her cleavage. The rest dissolved into more howling as Johnson turned a deep, flushed crimson. Draco could not help sigh and raise his eyes up into the heavens as Johnson asked a little shaken, "Did I come at the wrong time?"

"Oh no darling," Pansy asserted sweetly, "We were just talking about how I slept with Sir Goyle's father." Johnson's eyes turned huge as dinner plates as Goyle chugged down more wine, "For you, Pansy mi'love, sleeping with my mother would be more believable!"

"How dare you!" Pansy screamed with humour, "Even if your mother begged me with all her disgusting dogs' lives I wouldn't sink so low. She's too fat and ugly."

At this Crabbe suddenly started crying tears of mirth, "I second that!" he roared, pounding his large fist onto the table, "She's so fat and ugly, I wasn't surprised she was Goyle's mother."

"It's Sir Goyle to you!" Goyle yelled over the din. Johnson watched the interaction with interest, "Very witty," he commented, slightly nervous that he had not been able to contribute.

Draco realised his dinner companions were all too drunk to actually hold a decent conversation. To test this he said rather bored, lazily swirling wine in his goblet, "Pigs can fly." And quite audibly to the rest of the people seated around the table.

It was as if someone was controlling the volume in that room, suddenly the loudness of the din rose several notches as Crabbe started thumping Goyle on the back, "PIGS CAN FLY! My dear dear, sweet Goyle who is so lovely. Pigs…can…fly…hilarious,"

Millicent suddenly shrieked as she pointed to Goyle, "The pig! Fly! Fly my pretty!"

This time, Draco really did sigh and roll his eyes as Pansy started spearing the goose eggs to chant over and over, "My…babies…my…babies."

Even above all this noise, Johnson found the courage to ask Draco the reason he was here, "So, Mr Malfoy…your account?"

"Oh yeah….hic…Malfoy, you called us so that you could talk about…hic…the money…and since your…hic…special guest is here….we need to…hic….talk….hic…fly…." Goyle screwed his face up in concentration before his thought train crashed.

"Yes," Draco announced, raising his voice so that he could be heard. "The account...well…"

"I hope I'm not too late, oh dear." A new voice joined the amount of noise making in the room and Draco suddenly stood up in relief, "Your highness." He gave a great bow as he saw the messy black locks, the startling eyes and the awkward stoop in his shoulders as he tried hard not to hit is head on the ceiling.

The room went so quiet and so abruptly that at that moment, you could almost hear the pin drop. Everyone stood up except for Johnson and the prince moved further into the room in a motion to take his seat opposite Draco. Johnson looked at the prince for a moment before shaking hands with him, "Who are you?" he asked, quite amiably.

Harry tried to sit down, "I'm the prince."

"Ha…ha…very funny," Johnson rebutted, mockingly, "No, who are you really?"

The other guests were trying too hard to suppress their laughter and treacherous smiles as Johnson tried again, "And I suppose you travel with your footmen?"

"I do," Harry answered, confused. Right behind him, the powdered, men in stiff, collared red suits walked into the room.

Johnson threw back his head to laugh in the prince's face, "And they must be _your _footmen I suppose."

"Why, yes…they are," Harry spared a glance at Draco who gave him a warm smile.

"That's not funny that is," Johnson shook his head, "I slept with your mother. Now _that's _what's funny around this table."

Pansy could not help herself as she dissolved into giggles. Harry's face, however, had suddenly turned cold. "Why are you here?" he asked Johnson, anger starting to light in the deep green of his eyes.

"To settle Mr Malfoy's account." Johnson answered breezily. Harry was in disbelief, "Draco owes _you _money?"

Johnson, who had taken the time to look around the table with pride, he had, after all been able to crack a joke with the newest member, realised in the seriousness of each face that he had made a terrible mistake. He leapt to his feet, "Y-yes. Your highness…Mr Malfoy owes me a considerable amount."

"He does, does he?" Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Yes…he owes me an amount…a considerable…no," Johnson started to sweat as Harry advanced on him, "And what do you owe me?" the prince asked him dangerously.

"Nothing!" Johnson burst out, then seemed to backtrack and started to perspire, "M-my…life?"

"That's right," Harry stated calmly, "So…what does Mr Malfoy owe you?"

"Nothing…nothing, it was…" Johnson gulped, "Nothing."

"Good, you're dismissed."

Johnson stared at Harry petrified then glanced at Draco who had a twisted, relieved and bemused look on his face and fled. As soon as Johnson left the room, everyone burst out in laughter. Harry smiled slightly as he saw Draco give him an approving glance and took his seat around the table.

"Now…about my loans, ladies and gentlemen?" Draco started innocently, staring Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode, Pansy and Midgen with his more silver than grey eyes.

"Oh…" Crabbe started difficultly, "Speaking on behalf of everyone here. I think we don't need to discuss it any further." He glanced at the prince then lowered his eyes, "Since your special guest has arrived. I don't think we need to speak about it…do we?" he looked at his peers who nodded anxiously.

"Excellent." Draco replied, his pink lips twitching into a smile, "and…about your pestering manservant that called on my house every single day…?"

"O-oh, terribly sorry about that…Mr Malfoy," Crabbe started to perspire and he loosened the collar of his stiff suit, "H-how about you come to my jewellers, order anything you would like and I will tell them not to charge you…as an apology."

"Why…that is generous of you, Sir Crabbe." Draco teased, "But I was wondering if you could help me with something else."

"W-what would that be?" Crabbe's eyes darted everywhere, similar to that of a trapped animal.

"Oh…I would like to form a gentleman's society. I would like to invite you Sir Crabbe and Sir Goyle. I have a new look for the modern man. A 'dandy' as you might say. "

"Of course, anything you say." Goyle interrupted, nervously.

"Your highness, I would be honoured if you would like to join us," Draco turned his attention to the prince who smiled, pleased.

"Harry, Draco. And yes, I would like to. Lessons were becoming boring of late."

"Well then, a toast." Draco raised his goblet eagerly, "For our special guest, Prince Harold James Potter, a member of the Dandy Society."

Everyone raised theirs hastily to clink against Draco's as Draco smiled secretly to himself. Harry was his perfect plan.

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**noeru K**


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